Free The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

guarded voice, Frank explained that he and Joe had stopped to investigate the town of Boonton.
    â€œWe thought we’d give the rest of you fellows a chance to get settled on the job before we showed up,” Joe put in, adding that they had checked in with Mr. Losi just before he had left for Bayport earlier that morning. The brothers had learned that no one named Felix was on the work force.
    Frank told of the equipment they had brought. “We’ve got the binoculars, a nylon rope, and a miniature short-wave radio set hidden in a large cinder block under our bunk trailer.”
    â€œGood,” Tony said with a smile. “The rest of us only brought muscles. And do we need ’em!”
    As it grew dark, cool air settled down from the hills and the tired workers drifted away to turn in for the night.
    Frank and Joe were billeted in a trailer away from the rest of their pals, with Frank’s bunk located above Joe’s. Near midnight the Hardys, careful not to awaken their bunk mates, sneaked outside and noiselessly made their way to the neighboring trailer, housing Angan and Deemer. Voices came from inside.
    Joe stood on his brother’s shoulders and peered through one of the windows. Angan was sleeping. Deemer was sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing cards with two men. Willy Teeple looked on sleepily.
    As one of the workmen turned his head, Joe ducked out of sight and dropped to the ground. The Hardys pressed close to the metal wall of the trailer and listened intently. The language of the card players was interspersed with many slang words which the boys had never heard before. It certainly was not the jargon of their Bayport High School crowd! The young sleuths made mental notes of the odd expressions.
    Pair of bins; oiler; half stamp; clobby joint; long nit; bath in the canal; bice; baron.
    â€œWhat kind of lingo is that?” Joe whispered.
    Suddenly there was shuffling of feet and Deemer said in a loud voice, “Willy, you be the long nit tomorrow.”
    â€œThey’re breaking up!” Joe muttered. He and Frank hastened to their own bunks and quietly climbed in.
    Next morning, as the Hardys dressed, Frank whispered to his brother, “Joe, I think I have it solved. I remember Dad speaking about convict lingo, and some of those words last night sounded like jailbird slang.”
    â€œGood night!” Joe exclaimed. “We may be in a hornet’s nest of ex-cons.”
    The workday started early and the Hardys were assigned by Angan to carry planks for the carpenters who were building concrete forms to be used for the bridge’s support columns. They spotted their four buddies as they passed by. Frank and Joe also noted that Willy Teeple was nowhere to be seen.
    At midmorning the workmen paused for their coffee break. This gave Frank the chance he had been waiting for. He hastened to his bunk trailer, crawled beneath it, and removed the small radio. Concealing it under his shirt, Frank hurried back to Joe and slipped him the set.
    â€œQuick!” Frank whispered. “Nobody is working on the bridge now. There’s a good hiding place underneath the abutment. Contact Radley and ask him about those strange words.”
    While Frank stood guard some distance away, Joe nonchalantly ambled over to the bridge. He made sure no one was looking, then ducked underneath, turned on the transmitter, and called Radley in Bayport.
    After a few tense minutes of waiting, Joe got through to his father’s operative. He spoke rapidly, asking about the odd vocabulary the boys had heard the night before.
    â€œThat’s con language, all right,” Radley said. “Joe, be extra careful!”
    Radley translated the words which Joe carefully memorized:
    Joe thanked Radley and signed off. Then he thought in surprise “So that’s why Willy’s not on the job today—he’s lookout for that con bunch.”
    Joe secreted the short-wave radio in his